Personal God
by Mayushii
Summary: Castiel doesn't want to be forgiven.  He wants to be saved.   Possible Destiel slash.


Personal God

by Mayushii

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A/N: Clandestinely watching Supernatural on my computer is getting to be difficult, so I only got to watch the newest episode tonight. Tomorrow night's episode will probably prove all my theories wrong, but it's nice to think about. Because I really, really don't want Cas to be a villain.

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><p>Personal God<p>

I think I meant to say it.

At the time, I thought it was just a careless mistake. I loathed myself for uttering those words. "Superman gone to the Dark Side…" I'm sure I knew what I was saying. It wasn't a phrase my own mind would generate (I'm still not entirely clear on who Superman is), so I must have known that saying it would give me away. I must have known.

And I said it anyway.

_Why_, I wondered later, as I stood in that ring of holy fire—_why did I say it? _I should have known better. I had known better. I wasn't that careless.

Deep down, in the place where a human's soul would be, I think… I think I wanted them to know. I wanted Him to know.

In the Tuesday afternoon I have chosen as my own borrowed heaven, I do something I've never done before. I fall backward, laying on my back in the grass with my arms spread out to my sides, and stare up at the perfect blue sky. A kite skims through my line of vision, and I watch it with blank eyes.

I feel hurt.

I feel alone.

I feel disgraced.

I _feel_.

A shudder runs through me at that thought. I feel, and it scares me. Somehow, these feelings I shouldn't have are making me do things I can't control. Things I don't even think about. Saving Dean, Sam and Bobby from the demons, even though I should have known (_I did know_) it would raise their suspicions. Repeating those words Bobby had said, even though I should have known (_I did know_) it would reveal my spying. Looking at it objectively, it was foolish. But I know that I haven't done anything I didn't secretly want to do.

I wanted them to know. I wanted Him to know.

I think I know why I did it, too. It's because it's all too much for me. It's hard being in control all the time. It's hard being a leader, expected to be strong, smart, perfect, infallible in every way. Bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders. It's too much—so much…

I wanted Him to take the burden.

I turn onto my side in the sun-warmed grass, tucking a hand under my cheek and curling slightly inward like a human infant. _Selfish, _I scold myself harshly. Angels were made to serve God and humanity, and I tried to pass that burden off on another. I don't deserve wings.

Maybe I haven't learned to think for myself at all. I obeyed what I thought to be God's will for so long, and when I discovered it wasn't God's will, I didn't follow anymore. But…

I curl up tighter in the grass, feeling a strange tautness in my chest and a curious stinging in my eyes.

I didn't suddenly start thinking for myself. No. Angels who have obeyed since the beginning of their existence cannot instantly develop a sense of self. I know that; I saw it in my brothers and sisters when Michael and Lucifer were cast into perdition. They didn't know what to do with their freedom, so they sought out new leaders. It is hubris to think I am different from them.

I did not really find my independence. I simply found another God to follow. My personal God.

A God I would give anything for, yet I still tried to hide my sins from Him. My new God is neither omnipotent nor omniscient, so there is no way for Him to know everything I do. At first I reveled in my privacy, my new freedom to do what I liked without fear that my God would punish me for it. But soon, I began to realize what the price was. It was all on me. There was no release, no comfort. My sins just compounded, and I felt worse and worse. I didn't count on that when I began to follow Him. I needed a God who knew what I did, who would guide me, tell me what to do, and forgive me.

So I confessed.

And God did not forgive me.

My body could twist itself into the most grisly contortions, break and bend in every way imaginable, and it still wouldn't match my feelings now. God hadn't forgiven me.

But then, I think with a whimpering laugh as I grip my head tightly with my hands, tight enough for the fingernails to break skin and leave streaks of blood down my temples—I don't think I wanted Him to. I don't want to be forgiven for what I have done, because I can't forgive myself for it. I want Him to punish me, and this is perhaps the most effective punishment I have ever known. And I relish it. I want to be devastated, because it feels so good to hurt—masochistic, but true.

I don't want Him to forgive me.

I want Him to save me.

I want Him to tell me what I am doing, tell me if it is right or wrong. I want His guidance, His patience. His faith is not enough, and I feel selfish for asking more than that, but I _need _more. I need to know what to do. I thought I could make these decisions on my own, but it is too much for me. I need Him to tell me what to do.

And so I make an offering of angel's blood and pray to my God:

Please, Dean… Just tell me what to do…

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><p>End fic.<p>

Sorry if it was ridiculously out of character or just flat-out badly written. This is only my second fic in the Supernatural fandom and I actually missed the entire first half of the sixth season (I managed to watch most of the second half on CW's site though). Anyway, please leave a review and tell me what you think!


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